


Feeling This

by sister_wolf



Series: Devil's Road [1]
Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), Lone Hero (2002), due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-08
Updated: 2004-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy doesn't really look <em>that</em> much like Fraser, but it's enough, it's close enough for right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling This

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after _Hard Core Logo_ and includes spoilers for the end of the movie. Knowledge of _Lone Hero_ is definitely not necessary to read this; those of you who do remember the movie will notice that I've changed canon in a few significant places. Huge thanks to my awesome betas, Brooklinegirl, Heuradys, and Justacat.
> 
> IMPORTANT WARNING: This series is unfinished and will never be finished. It also ends at a particularly bad point in the plot. I really do apologize for that.

The guy doesn't really look _that_ much like Fraser, but it's enough, it's close enough for right now.

Dark hair, blue eyes, around six foot tall, built wide through the shoulders, and it's enough, enough for him to pretend, anyway. What clinches it, though, is the Canadian accent that at this point acts on Ray like those dogs with the ringing bell-- Pavel? Pavlosky? Something like that. Not the point.

The point is that it's close enough, close enough to pretend, down on his knees on the disgusting tiles of the men's room floor at a bar he knows from before, before Benton Fraser walked into his life and he stopped going to bars like this, stopped ending up on his knees like this. Doesn't matter, not anymore.

"That's it, that's so good," the guy moans, hands on Ray's head but not getting grabby, just stroking, and if Ray glances up at him and squints, his strong-jawed face blurs into another, enough to pretend. It's enough, has to be.

He relaxes his jaw and goes deeper, surprising a strangled "F-ffffuck!" from the guy. Hates the taste of latex but he's already taking enough risks here, going down on a complete stranger in a restroom, no need to be completely stupid. Because completely stupid, he's already done. What else can you call falling in love with your (straight) best friend?

It's good though, it's good, closing his eyes and just feeling, feeling the stretch and ache of his jaw muscles, feeling the guy's hands running through his hair, feeling the tiny thrusts he makes, not enough to choke him, just enough that he knows the guy is getting close. Ray tightens his fingers on the guy's hips, ready to hold him still if he has to.

Takes a deep breath through his nose and goes down all the way, nose buried in dark brown curls, cock nudging into the back of his throat, and the guy groans hard and freezes, shaking, his hands tightening in Ray's hair just to the edge of pain. Ray holds in place for a couple seconds, then lets him slip out of his mouth. The guy slumps back against the wall, one hand grabbing the edge of the sink next to him as if he needs its support to keep standing. Ray wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and works his jaw back and forth. Oh yeah, he'll be feeling this for a while.

"Jesus." The guy sounds stunned.

Ray can't help a smug little grin. Been a while, but he hasn't lost the hang of it. He sits back on his heels and unzips his jeans with a sigh of relief-- he's been too focused on what he's been doing to take care of himself earlier. Takes himself in hand, watching the guy (not Fraser, close enough) as he leans against the wall, still breathing hard. Doesn't matter if the guy does a damn thing-- he can just stand there, looking the way he does, and Ray can watch him, and if he squints a little it's close enough, close enough...

But the guy isn't that much of an asshole, it turns out, just takes a second to toss the condom in the trash and gives Ray a hand up. The guy pulls Ray against him, back to front, leaning against the bathroom door. Ray leans back against him and lets his head fall back against the guy's shoulder.

From here he can see them reflected in the bathroom mirror, hazy enough that he doesn't even have to squint for it to look like Fraser, god, Fraser's holding him, warm chest against his back, strong arms around him, big, slightly callused hand stroking him, long pulls that corkscrew just a little at the top, the other hand spread out across his chest, thumb flicking against a nipple, making Ray jerk helplessly with pleasure, lost to it, so completely lost, and Fraser is holding him, holding onto him, not leaving him-- and he's coming, shaking, babbling, "Fraser oh god _Fraser_..."

Ray's eyes are closed and he's breathing hard, and his eyelashes may be wet, and he just wants to be _held_ for a while. And miraculously, the guy seems to want that too, wraps his arms around Ray and holds on, his chin resting on Ray's shoulder. They rest there for a minute, just breathing, and then someone starts pounding on the bathroom door.

"Dammit," the guy growls. Ray opens his eyes and meets the guy's eyes in the mirror, and it seems like there's an answering loneliness there. But the pounding on the door is getting insistent, and Ray steps away and they both straighten their clothing. The guy looks him over and asks, "Ready?"

"Not really," Ray mutters, but nods.

The asshole who was pounding on the door starts to give them some lip, but backs off quickly when the guy gives him a flat, menacing stare. Ray puts that look together with the gun calluses on the guy's hands and the way he moves, and hopes to god he hasn't just given a blowjob to a mob enforcer. Or, jesus, another cop.

Instead of continuing down the dark hallway toward the main room of the bar, the guy pauses by the cigarette machine and motions him over. Cautious, but curious, Ray follows him, slouching against the edge of the cigarette machine.

The guy looks a little uncertain, for the first time since Ray caught him giving him the eye from the next stool over at the bar. "Hey, do you wanna take this someplace else?"

"Like where?" Ray can't believe he's seriously considering this. Total stranger, picked up at a bar, could be a psycho, could be someone's hired muscle, and he's considering it. He's lost his fucking mind.

"Hotel?" the guy offers with a shrug.

"Something you should know before we do anything more. I'm a cop." Angled away from the rest of the hallway, Ray flashes his badge.

The guy sighs and shakes his head. "Jesus. I can pick 'em." Reaches into his pocket and flashes an ID. "FBI."

"But... I thought you were Canadian." Ray can't believe that's the first thing that came out of his mouth. Shit, he's pathetic.

The guy smiles a little. "Kind of. Grew up there, most of the time anyway. So... he's Canadian?"

Ray's head jerks up. "Who?"

"Fraser." The guy stares him down for a second and then looks away. "Listen, forget I asked. You don't have to tell me anything. I'm okay with being someone else for a while."

"You shouldn't have to--"

"Why not? I don't mind being Fraser for you, for a while. It's better than being me, right now. So, do you want to?" He cocks his head to the side and smiles, revealing a long dimple in one cheek, and damn, Ray realizes, this guy can be really fucking charming when he wants to be.

He considers his options. The safe choice would be to say, thanks, but no thanks, go home to his empty apartment, and fall asleep in front of the TV the way he always does. That would be the safe choice.

But hell, Ray's never gone for the safe path before, why start now? So he grins back at the guy, jerks his head toward the door, and feels his big, solid body fall into step right behind him.

He's not Fraser. But it's enough, it's close enough for tonight.


End file.
